


Welcome

by AngelsInTheSand



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Deaf Character, Implied Death, M/M, Mention of Death, Selectively Mute Character, golden youth is curious, implied children death, mention of children death, wez is obliging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsInTheSand/pseuds/AngelsInTheSand
Summary: Wez and the Golden Youth discover a house still standing in the wasteland. Not every house holds a happy ending.
Relationships: Golden Youth/Wez
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Welcome

A house. Wez knew the word right of the bat. The word ricocheted back in his mind like it’d been there all along, a memory. Vague, not entirely certain if the memory is positive, but a memory nonetheless. 

A house stood before him. Or maybe, what could be a house if it was completed. But there was a door, windows, loose shingles. He couldn’t quite recall what made a house... a house. He recalled it as something innate, like breathing or eating, but so distant. You live in them, they provide comfort, security, protection. But so does a tent. What was the point of houses to begin with? All the comfort you could need was in canvas, what made houses so special? Wez couldn’t recall.

He gave a sideways glance to his Golden Youth, catching a glint of curiosity and amazement in his eyes. His mouth was slack, close to drooling even, at the rare sight.

It finally occurred to Wez that the Golden Youth must have never seen a house. His life was canvas tents and metal lean-tos. Never had he seen the majestic, engulfing beast that was a house.

Wez studied the sand. No trash. No footprints. No tire tracks. This house was long-abandoned. Nobody had been here at least since the last dust storm. This could be an educational moment.

Wez climbed off the bike, taking a step towards the tarnished picket fence remains. Based on the orangish-red tinges that dust the skeletal remains, it was once white. Wez can’t recall the purpose of the fences anymore. Function or fashion? Did it really matter in the end? At this point, the fence has been tarnished and destroyed. Whoever lived here in the old world is long gone, dead or otherwise. The longevity of the fence’s purpose was not long withstanding. 

Wez suddenly became very aware of the lack of his partner. He quickly turned, and found the Golden Youth still on the pillion, holding the bike up himself, gazing intensely at the roof. Looking up, Wez can see a weather vane in the shape of a rooster. Hardly the most amazing thing about the structure, but the Youth seems to think it is.

Wez grabs the Youth’s chain and tugs it lightly, breaking him from his daydream. The Youth follows quickly, intensely interested in what else the structure holds.

Wez recalls all the little things Golden Youth has enjoyed from the old world. Wez could never forget when he discovered a multicolor cube, the stickers fading and peeling. Wez wanted to toss it aside and forget about it. The Golden Youth stole it away from him and spent a week twisting the cube until all the colors aligned on each side. The pure elation on The Youth’s face when he showed Wez was unforgettable. It still lived somewhere in their tent, in the Golden Youth’s collection of little knick knacks.

Wez stepped on the porch first, testing the integrity of the wood with a foot. When the creaking didn’t indicate complete structural collapse, he stood completely on it. The creak was audible, but not as bad as Wez had imagined. As he took another step onto the porch, he knocked something with the tip of his boot. A rectangular, flat thing that rested right beneath the door. He leant down, brushing the dust off of it with one hand. 

The rectangle was covered in words that Wez had long since forgotten how to read, with a smiling sun in the upper corner.

The Golden Youth squawked happily behind him, unable to contain his joy at the little shape. The Golden Youth was a valuable asset in many ways, one being that he could read. Wez was not sure who taught him, perhaps a parent or teacher he would never meet.

The Golden Youth held his palm curved out to his side, bringing it around towards his stomach in the same shape, smiling at Wez. He repeated the sign a few more times, giddy at the discovery.

“Welcome,”

A welcome mat.

Wez nodded, suddenly being struck with the memories of what welcome mats were. Useless little strips of fabric that told people they were wholeheartedly welcome to drop by even if they weren’t.

For a moment, Wez wondered if this little mat had betrayed the inhabitants of what could have been a happy home. The sun grinning from cheek to cheek as a family met their end inside. Morbid. Maybe sad. Ironic, really.

The Golden Youth gently pressed his fingers against the door, unsure of how to handle the great wooden slab. A hand struck out at his side, Wez pushing him back and preventing him from going in before him.

Wez took the first step in, crossbow aimed as the door creaked open. He checked every room: bedroom, kitchen, living space, even a small storage closet, before returning to the Youth.

The Golden Youth sat on the porch, completely enamored by a small statue that was half-faded and partially broken: A smiling frog in dungarees and a droopy, fish hook-laden hat. The frog’s arm was stuck out, the upper half shattered off, leaving only a jagged edge, and a mystery of what the frog could’ve held oh so long ago.

The Golden Youth felt the wood shift beneath him, and whipped around to see Wez. The Youth smiled, gesturing towards the novelty statuette. He stuck his fist beneath his chin, his thumb jutting out. His index and middle finger flexed out, perpendicular with his thumb.

“Frog,”

Wez couldn’t help but chuckle. The Golden Youth seemed to love animals, regardless of their texture. On rainy nights, the Golden Youth would wait in the tent until the chorus of desert frogs would begin. Wez would alert him to their singing, and the Youth would stake out outside the tent. When they surfaced, the Golden Youth would catch them and feel their chortles against his palms. He would always wake up with a cold and an attitude the next morning.

The Golden Youth rose to his feet and followed Wez inside. It was a straight shot from the front door to the back door: a shot gun house. The Golden Youth stopped at the first room: a kitchen. 

The doorway was wide, and the Golden Youth stood hesitantly in the threshold, as if the ceiling would fall through on him at any moment. Wez stalked in first, analyzing the little details. A fridge who’s door has long side been broken off. Pilfered, empty cabinets. The window facing the front of the house has long-since shattered, and for a moment Wez wonders why he hadn’t noticed it to begin with. He makes a mental note to be more observant, and turns to see Golden Youth examining a faded magnet on the fridge door. Golden Youth turns towards Wez, distressed and upset. Wez stares at the magnet for a moment, and his mouth twists into a sneer as he realizes what it is without any translation needed.

The magnet has a picture of small stick figures holding hands outside of a red-brick structure. A yellow vehicle is painted across the side, adjacent to the stick figures. Wez lets out a sigh as he sees a series of numbers across the bottom of the magnet, and Golden Youth grips his arm.

A daycare. They’re standing in the remains of an old home-run daycare.

This explains the fence, perfect for ensuring ankle-biters couldn’t escape. Wez imagined parents dropping off children at the front door, where a friendly face would greet them, promising them safety among friends until their parents returned. Wez wondered if there were children here when-

Wez suddenly became very aware that he was alone. Whipping around, he searched for the Youth in the room, and found nobody. He burst into the hall, eyeing each room as he ran past, and his eyes landed on nothing but old furniture and trash. Panic surged through him. The Youth rarely left his sight, and always with his knowledge. Sweat formed on his forehead, his pores reacting to his panic. A flash of golden hair caught his eye, and he realized the Youth was no longer in the house, and stood in the back yard, facing away from the house.

Wez races out towards him, finding the Youth stood on the veranda. Wez’s hand met the Youth’s shoulder, and he swung around with a squawk., wrenching Wez’s hand away before he realized who he was. The Youth calmed down, sinking into Wez’s arms, shuddering. Wez wrapped his arms around the Youth, raising his eyes to the sight before him. 

A car. The tires popped, the trunk thrown open. Shattered glass, doors broken off the chassis of the vehicle. Tiny, colorful backpacks lay scattered across the ground, some still laying shredded in the backseat of the car. 

Wez sighed, guiding Golden Youth back through the house and out of the front door. Wez had hoped this would be like a time capsule, a museum to the old world that the Golden Youth could gawk in awe at. Instead, it proved to be a view into the beginning of this new world. When the old world and the new world came together in a horrible clash.

Wez sighed as he settled onto the bike, allowing Golden Youth to settle behind him. Golden Youth’s arms snakes around Wez’s waist, and his hands found each other at Wez’s stomach. His cheek rested gently on Wez’s back, staring at the cheery frog on the front porch. 

The frog’s smile now seemed taunting, as if to urge the two inside to relive the haunting scene again. He wondered how many people had been fooled into following in their footsteps, only to realize the horrible circumstances of the previous inhabitants.

Wez’s hand found the Golden Youths’ on his stomach, giving the hands a comforting squeeze. One of the hands loosened and found Wez’s, returning the squeeze as if to say , “It’s okay. I’m okay. This happens,”.

The Golden Youth turns his head away, away from the taunting frog. His head snuggles against Wez’s back, and his hands once again find each other at his stomach. He’s seen death before, the new world is full of it. But something about the scene from so many years ago, the mere hints about what happened, disturb him. The puzzle pieces regarding the event, as if life itself doesn’t want to give away the truth all at once, forms knots in his stomach. All he can do is bury his face in Wez’s back and silently thank him for getting them out of there when he did.

As they ride off back towards camp, the house and it’s history fades behind them. The Golden Youth briefly glances back once, watching the house disappear in a cloud of dust. Just like most of everything, old world and new world, it all disappears in a cloud of dust.


End file.
